


Static

by FaultyParagon



Series: Canon-Compliant/Canon-Rooted RWBY Fics [17]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Gen, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Podfic, Podfic Available, Podfic Length: 20-30 Minutes, Post-Volume 7 (RWBY), Pre-Volume 1 (RWBY), Qrowin - Freeform, Qrowin Fest, Romance, Shame, Shameful Pining, Unrequited Love, Winter Schnee-centric, Winter's just thirsting for Qrow, but she'll never admit it, fair game, snowbird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24850651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultyParagon/pseuds/FaultyParagon
Summary: Winter has never really respected Qrow Branwen as a person. He’s done little to help change that, in all fairness. If only she had the courage to try and finally take the steps needed to meet him halfway.Otherwise, he's going to leave her behind.–aka Winter’s view on Qrow over the years changes. Qrowin/Snowbird/whatever-the-heck-it’s-called tension from pre-V1 to post-V7. Sprinklings of Fair Game.
Relationships: James Ironwood & Winter Schnee, One-sided Qrow Branwen/Winter Schnee, Qrow Branwen & James Ironwood, Qrow Branwen & Ruby Rose, Qrow Branwen & Weiss Schnee, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi, Weiss Schnee & Winter Schnee
Series: Canon-Compliant/Canon-Rooted RWBY Fics [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815229
Comments: 17
Kudos: 66





	Static

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a Kingdom Hearts story with this kind of format (short fragments in a oneshot spanning over a long period of time), but I wanted to try it here with the pieces a little out of order. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Edit: The podfic is available on my Tumblr.  
> [Part 1](https://faultyparagonfiction.tumblr.com/post/628098074435289088/podfic-for-part-1-of-static-by-faultyparagon-fic) \- [Part 2](https://faultyparagonfiction.tumblr.com/post/628256878933295104/podfic-for-part-2-of-static-by-faultyparagon-fic) \- [Part 3](https://faultyparagonfiction.tumblr.com/post/628434483987824640/podfic-for-part-33-of-static-by-faultyparagon)

_**static-unmoving-unable to change** _

she wants to take a step; or maybe she doesn't.

x

**ninth**

x

“It’s for you.”

She does not plan on explaining why she has bought it for Qrow. She doubts he will care, if he is anything like he used to be.

It is only in the recent months that she has grown to appreciate alcohol herself. She is always careful; only half a glass here and there, never anything more than a light wisp on her tongue, curling deliciously into a heady scent that paired well with fruits and cheese and bread. The drink is a dangerous mistress, and she is sick and tired of watching people succumb to it. She doesn’t plan on ever becoming like them.

If James ever asked, she probably would share why she bothered to pull out some of her savings to purchase a fine, classic whisky for Qrow Branwen. The answer is nothing too deep, after all.

Qrow took care of Weiss when Winter herself could not. Qrow kept Weiss safe and gave her a place to stay when Winter could not. Qrow has become something akin to family to Weiss, and Winter is astounded by the warmth Qrow shows her younger sister whenever she sees them interacting; there is a sacredness there, a kind, paternal affection that he used to reserve only for his nieces, now shared with all of the clumsy children that have gathered under his wing in Atlas.

But for treating her younger sister well when she could not, and for giving Weiss a male role model who spoke to her with a modicum of respect, Winter is grateful. So she spends the money and winces at the hole in her bank account and writes a small thank-you note, because she is nothing if not appreciative of the small kindnesses that have kept her life bearable over the past twenty-seven years.

Qrow looks at the note, and rather than taking the bottle with an eager flourish as Winter had expected, Qrow’s face falls. He is stricken, shocked, heartbroken. She sees the outline of the bottle reflecting in his eyes, and for a moment, she marvels at the colour of amber liquid melding with crimson irises. The colour makes her feel warm.

But Qrow shakes his head, lips pressed into a thin line before he shoves hands angrily into his pockets, hunches over, and storms away, leaving the bottle behind.

Winter almost feels like she, too has been abandoned.

x

**second**

x

It’s honestly almost worse that he’s good at what he does. Winter wishes he was worse; a worse fighter, a worse Huntsman, a worse teacher. If he were terrible at everything, she would have the grounds to hate him.

As it was, people simply didn’t think she liked his decorum, or lack thereof.

Qrow is not anything like she has ever seen before. All long legs and narrow waist, wrinkled blazers and rings on every finger. Gaudy, a preening bird flaunting a flirtatious smile and a keen, cunning eye.

She hates every inch of him.

She hates even more that every time she spars against him, he wins. Even when she trains in the dead of night, perfecting her summoning Semblance and building up more strength than any of her peers, he still wins; always effortless, always smiling.

He toys with her. She knows it. With no other instructor does she ever get as riled up or as frustrated.

But Qrow’s smile, that rich voice, the intelligence hidden behind teasing words and wry grins-

She _hates_ that she likes it.

x

**fifth**

x

It has been almost five years since her first match with Qrow Branwen. She had thought after five years, she would have grown powerful enough to win.

Based on the shameful results of their bout in front of Weiss and a whole crowd of spectators in Beacon’s courtyard earlier that day, she has not.

As she peers through the window of her quarters, she finds herself stuck on this fact. It is as if nothing has changed over five years, as if she was still naught but the easily-flustered teenager she had been back when he join Atlas as a slovenly substitute for a few months. The only encouraging part of the day’s defeat is how James had just-as-easily admonished Qrow, taking her side in the senseless battle which has destroyed far more property than she would like to admit.

Halfway through these thoughts, she spots the man himself walking around outside. His gait is steady. He clearly has sobered up slightly. But by his side walks that little friend of Weiss’; little Ruby Rose. It’s a lovely evening, and they are going for a stroll while Winter sulks indoors.

It is horrifying to realize how she can never escape Qrow Branwen; her younger sister has become friends with his niece, and that tie seems strong and genuine, and it makes Winter want to scream.

But as she watches, the girl trips and falls, and Qrow catches her. He sets her on her feet, straightens up her cloak, scolds her into retying her shoelaces, then ruffles her hair. There is a warmth in his face, palpable even across the courtyard, as he looks at his niece. There is warmth and undying affection and undivided attention burning in those crimson eyes, and Winter wonders whether he has ever looked at her like that. She doubts it.

Then, she wonders whether she has ever looked at him like that.

x

**first**

x

Their first meeting is absolutely disastrous.

Winter prided herself on her control, her dignity, her poise. She knew the other recruits in Atlas Academy gossiped behind her back. She knew her teammates were a part of that problem, but she made no move to correct it.

She didn’t care.

Yes, she was Winter Schnee, the eldest of the Schnee family, famous for having shirked off her family’s entire fortune in favour of swearing her fealty to protect the citizens of Atlas. Was her face still in the tabloids? Unfortunately, one look at her Scroll’s newsfeed could confirm that, with rumours circulating constantly as to why she had decided to leave the Schnee Dust Company behind.

None of the rumours were true, nor did she care to correct them. She would show them all with her might who was the truly powerful one; who actually needed someone else’s wealth to give them strength, versus who could serve the world with their discipline and sword.

Due to that media coverage and constant scrutiny, she usually made sure that everything in her life was as perfect as possible. She couldn’t afford slip-ups, not when people already assumed she was top of her class because of bribery and not her own talent. She couldn’t afford to be looked down upon any more than she already was.

That was why this blow-up has been _so painful._

Winter feels her face burning as she glares at a small scuff in the white tiled floor, silently fuming to herself. Her fists are balled up on her knees, back so rigidly straight it almost hurts as she sits at attention.

_How the hell was I supposed to know that man was a guest and not an intruder?!_

In her defense, the stranger in question had been drunkenly stumbling through the parade square right before the early morning fall-in! How in the world was she supposed to have known that not only was he a Huntsman, but also a guest and colleague of General Ironwood?!

The whole situation is nonsensical. Of _course_ she had drawn her blade on the strange man, his red eyes piercing into her soul so easily that she had wanted to hide. A handsome, perfect smile meant nothing when he was stumbling over himself, all rumpled civilian attire and dark hair falling into hooded eyes. He had been slovenly and unkempt and- and-

When General Ironwood’s door finally opens, a silent invitation for her to entire, she wants to cry, face burning with the sheer humiliation of it all. She has not spent so long at Atlas Academy building up a reputation for herself, only to have it destroyed for standing up to some random Huntsman who _cat-called her while drunk on her parade square._

Still, she steels herself for the reprimand about to come. She comes to attention at the door, salutes, and calls, “Permission to enter, sir!”

“Come in, Schnee,” General James Ironwood replies, voice betraying nothing.

She closes the door behind her and strides to the center of the office, keeping her gaze fixed above the horizon through the office’s window. At his command, she stands at ease, then relaxes, clasping her hands in front of her.

It is shameful how clammy her hands are in trepidation, trembling slightly as she waits to be dressed down.

To her surprise, James doesn’t reprimand her. He does not berate her, nor does he tell her to get out of Atlas Academy for once and for all. Instead, he sighs, and mutters, “Qrow, please apologize to my student.”

Winter freezes, twisting to look at the figure in the general’s sight. Leaning against the wall behind her is the man. He stands upright, hands tucked into his pockets, a devil-may-care air about him as he shrugs. When he speaks, his voice is rich and thick, the husky tone more powerful than the general’s could ever be. “Look, Jimmy,” he drawls, “I already apologized-“

“You apologized to me. You did not apologize to my cadet.”

A seed of hope plants itself into her gut, taking root and sprouting almost immediately. She isn’t in trouble? She isn’t going to be kicked out?

General Ironwood continues, “I’m sorry, Schnee- Winter. This is Qrow Branwen. He’s… um…”

“I’m a substitute teacher, kiddo,” Qrow says airily. “Takin’ over for your combat instructor while she’s on mat leave.”

Winter deadpans, then shudders, feeling her proverbial hackles raising in disgust. Before she can contain herself, she cries, “You’re telling me that I got called out in front of the _entire squadron_ because a _teacher_ decided to be a _pig-_ “

“It was a joke!” Qrow retorts. “Take a joke! Didn’t realize you were as cold as they say, Ice Queen.”

She sees red, and it’s not just in his eyes.

“Qrow, please,” the general calls, groaning in exasperation. “I swear to the gods, we’re only having you here for a while until we can get the spot filled from someone in Atlas. Thank Oz for it.” Turning to her, he adds, “Look, Winter, I just wanted to let you know that we’re talking about this. None of this behaviour is tolerated in Atlas.”

“What’re you gonna do, tell Oz?” says Qrow.

The general shakes his head, smile steely. “No. I’ll tell Glynda.”

Qrow audibly gulps, and Winter feels a sliver of justice as his face visibly pales, the man shrinking in on himself slightly when he spits out quiet complaints, acquiescing nonetheless and apologizing to her.

She is still irritated when the general finally dismisses her with a light reminder to not draw her weapon on the parade square; as she turns to leave, Qrow Branwen winks at her, and she struggles to not draw her blade yet again.

x

**twelfth**

x

Qrow Branwen is a fugitive.

Silently, Winter prays that she is not the one who finds him. If she does meet him on the battlefield, she does not know who would win. Whether that loss would belong to her skill or to her heart, she never wanted to find out. She has caused enough in her life to crumble; she does not need to let go of the only bit of selfish desire as a woman she’s ever had, too.

x

**third**

x

When she quietly brings up her doubts to General Ironwood- James, as he has insisted on being called while off-duty now that she is a full Huntress, having graduated from the Academy almost two years early- he can only laugh, giving her a response she never could have imagined.

“That man was a professor at Signal?!”

“One of the best,” James concedes, a wistful smile blending into his sheer exasperation.

Winter pauses, the errant thought flashing into her mind of what that would look like. What would Qrow Branwen teach at Signal Academy?

She knows the answer is combat. He’s an excellent instructor. It’s odd to think he’s not teaching at Beacon with his level of skills. But, in response to that question, her traitorous mind whispers ‘biology’, and she wants to sink into the floor to hide from the unabashed _want_ thrown into that stupid little fantasy.

Her mind has played different scenarios a million and one times to see whether she might ever change her opinion of him. The current result she has found is no, the man is an idiot and she will never treat him as anything but.

And no, she doesn’t know whether she’ll ever be able to think of him as _just_ an idiot.

But he’s leaving Atlas and going back to Signal Academy in Sanus, and it is time for her to banish the thought of red eyes and cunning smiles from her mind and focus on the prosperous future ahead. At least she won’t have to hear him call her ‘Ice Queen’ anymore.

She tells herself that she’s happy about that.

x

**seventh**

x

Perhaps the gods had planned it all along. Her name is too perfect of a match, after all.

Winter Schnee, born and raised to be the best of the best- the next Winter Maiden.

When James asks her if she will accept, she does so with little hesitation. She knows Weiss will be fine without her, and she doesn’t care for the fate of the others in their godforsaken household, so what does she have left to lose?

It doesn’t mean that it is an easy choice, however. She finds herself visiting Fria, the current Winter Maiden, fairly often. Fria is rarely coherent, giving Winter the perfect person onto whom she can unload her questions; after all, she doesn’t want answers. She just wants someone to listen, and Fria is old and frail and happy for the company of someone who will one day understand her burden.

But as she speaks to Fria, her conversations eventually change from ‘what is’ to ‘what if’. She begins hypothesizing, questioning, wondering. She asks Fria whether there is a chance that Winter could end Salem before she has to take on the Maiden’s power. She ponders aloud on how it would feel to accept such a burden and try to live an average life. She laments on how she will likely have to cut ties from the entire world, making building any new ones at this point meaningless.

She wonders whether Qrow knows about the Maidens. She assumes he does; if James was in the inner circle, then Qrow must have been, too.

When she asks James about it, he explains it so succinctly it hurts. “Qrow has probably done more for this movement- for protecting the _world_ under Ozpin’s command- than anyone else on the planet,” he admits, avoiding her gaze. Shame hangs upon his shoulders like a cloak, a thick blanket muffling all sound, suffocating his resentment. It leaves behind only pure, untouched appreciation- a fresh canvas of snow upon the tundra surrounding Mantle.

Suddenly, all of Qrow’s drinking makes sense.

x

**fourth**

x

As she quickly finds out, she will never be free of Qrow Branwen.

Her former pride at being assigned as the aide to General Ironwood crumbles in an instant when she hears where their first destination on a diplomacy trip will bring them. Numerous Huntsmen will be present, especially those who work closely with the headmasters of each combat school.

Her horror only mounts when, upon landing in Vale, she finds herself lost in the halls of the conference center. She doesn’t want to give up and call the general, but her anxiety begins to peak when the eighth hallway looks like the first and she is just a few minutes away from being late.

Her discomfort reaches its zenith when she hears that familiar voice murmur, “Well, look here, it’s the little Ice Queen.”

Her snarl comes naturally to her, just like the wave of heat crashing over her at the sight of crimson eyes, dark hair streaked with more grey than she remembers, a debonair smile quirking the corner of a thin mouth. That heat pools deep within her. She pretends that it doesn’t.

But now that she’s ‘all grown up’, when the meeting ends (Qrow brought her there with relish right on time, much to her chagrin) she is invited to go out for drinks with the rest of them before she flies out the next morning. Although she goes, she sees how quickly Qrow loses himself in his drink. She has seen it happen to her mother too often to want to partake.

He winks at her, then growls, then calls her too frigid, too cold, too closed-off. She walks away regardless, heading for the general’s airship located in the docks north of town. It is easier to walk away than to face the fact that she is scared of drinking; scared of losing control; scared of becoming a stumbling mess on a parade square, or a crumbling woman who has forgotten her own children.

x

**eleventh**

x

Qrow Branwen looks at Clover Ebi like a dying man seeing a desert oasis for the first time in years. Everything in his entire being seems to light up, his footsteps quickening and his smile growing. He quickly tamps down on those emotions, however, biting back his breathtaking grin and opting to greet the other man with nothing but a casual hello, a small wave.

Winter sees the way Clover Ebi looks back at Qrow. She recognizes the fire in his eyes, the tensing of his muscles- the heat that must be merging within his core at the sight of Qrow Branwen. Clover softens in a way she has never seen before in the Ace-Ops leader. She doesn’t begrudge him for it; she recognizes herself in his turquoise eyes.

And she wonders whether the others can see her softening in the same way when she looks at Qrow. The only difference is she never had a chance; Clover does. She isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at that realization.

x

**eighth**

x

Winter has a lot of people to thank for making sure Weiss was safe, and that her little sister came back home to her in one piece.

Qrow being one of them is not what she had planned for.

However, Winter understands quickly that Qrow is perhaps one of the few who truly deserves any words of appreciation throughout this whole mess. As Weiss regales her with tales of their adventures and misadventures, Winter can feel her anxiety rising. Her younger sister has managed to do incredible things; she has performed breathtaking feats, and Winter cannot be prouder of the young girl- no, the young woman- before her.

She must acknowledge, however, that it was Qrow who helped get her there; at least partially.

For when they all enter a briefing room together, Winter sees Weiss smile at her sweetly before donning a mask of professionalism. Her younger sister is a Huntress, now, after all, and thus, she must play the part.

But then Weiss sees Qrow and her mask falls away to nothing, a scowl and a teasing quip leaving her tongue before anyone can blink. Qrow responds in kind, all winks and light jabs and stupid commentary that would make anyone else think the pair hated one another.

As the briefing commences, however, and the rookies are all assigned their roles for the day, Winter notices how Weiss follows Ruby; how Weiss mimics the younger girl; and how, before they head out, Weiss copies Ruby’s actions and tells Qrow where she’s been assigned as if he hadn’t just been watching the assignments roll out on the screen with her.

And Qrow smiles at Weiss in the same way Winter has seen him smile at Ruby, and she wonders whether Qrow has been there for her little sister more than Winter ever has.

Before she can investigate, however, Clover steps up. Clover likes to put Qrow on missions with him, she notices. Qrow never objects, instead smirking and winking and tossing pet names like ‘lucky charm’ and ‘boy scout’ and all manner of undignified monikers.

Winter wishes she had had the courage all her life to wink back the way Clover does, because the fire lit in Qrow’s eyes is something she’s never seen before. It’s beautiful, and it’s not for her to see.

x

**tenth**

x

“I didn’t know you like whisky, Winter.”

James is clearly bemused by the bottle sitting innocuously on her countertop.

She frowns, taking a moment to stare at the amber liquid within. The light reflecting off her quarter’s bleak white walls bounces and scatters as it passes through the bottle, sending golden rays of sunshine all up the wall.

She should have hidden it, but they’re only here to pick up some paperwork on the way to his office. She hadn’t thought it was necessary to put it away.

James walks over, looking over the label with a fond glint in his eye. “This used to be one of Qrow’s favourites, you know,” he says warmly. “I remember Oz used to get him some for his birthday every year.”

Winter frowns, trying to hold back her cries of anger at that revelation. “You say that in past tense, sir.”

James hums, placing the bottle back down and walking back to the door as she retrieves the folder in question from her study. “He managed to quit!” James announces proudly. “Can you believe it? He said he was doing it for his nieces. I’m honestly so impressed; he’s done exceptionally well in the short time he’s been here.”

Winter wordlessly hands him the folder outside of her quarters and excuses herself, taking long strides down the corridor, head spinning. She hadn’t known he was quitting. She hadn’t known he was trying to change. She had always viewed him as the static one; the resident mess, the Huntsman who was fallible but capable. She hadn’t seen him as someone who would one day _grow._

That night, she drinks enough of that whisky by herself in her quarters to ask herself who really has been the static one between the two of them.

x

**last**

x

Every bone in her body, every muscle underneath burned, broken skin, aches. Each step is agonizing. Each breath sends pain lancing through her core, ribs protesting, forced to heal naturally now that her Aura is all but gone, stress and fatigue making it impossible for her power to recover enough to jumpstart the healing process.

She has wondered for a few nights now whether her Aura will ever return, if her heart will ever feel safe enough to begin the recovery process properly. Everything is different now.

Still, she stops in front of that isolated jail cell. She silently gestures for the guard to leave before taking a seat on the lone chair parked in front of the clear, impenetrable window.

There is a small opening on the window- a mesh through which they can speak. She opens it.

“You don’t look so good,” he mutters.

She is covered in bandages and ointment, in nervousness and burn tissue.

“Neither do you.”

He is covered in blood that is not his own, dried dark and dull just like the crimson in his eyes- once-vibrant red, now lifeless.

“Did you do it?” she whispers.

“No.”

It is startling just how easily she accepts those words. She believes him. She doesn’t understand how Qrow could have ever killed Clover, not when she had seen his eyes rove over Clover’s silhouette so dotingly, so _devotedly_ so many times-

Qrow has never looked at her like that. For that, she is thankful. Her one-sided desire is good enough, thank you.

But when she gets up, ready to close the mesh, and he breathes, “Is Ruby and Yang and Weiss and- and everyone- are the kids okay?” Winter almost lets her tears fall, because Qrow Branwen is under no obligation to ever care about anything related to Atlas, but he still worries about Winter’s little sister just as he worries for his nieces and she _wants-_

“I don’t know.”

There is grim satisfaction in the fact that his face crumples, that handsome visage that has always teased and leered and mocked and _trusted_ her falling apart into nothing but a man who doesn’t know what to live for if those children aren’t safe.

Perhaps now they finally suit one another. Winter, too, doesn’t know what to live for. Not anymore.

x

**sixth**

x

The Fall of Beacon has left her weary and broken.

At least Weiss is back home. That is her only solace as she works countless hours, day and night, desperately attempting to help James Ironwood wrangle control on a situation that has gotten so out of hand, she wonders whether they had ever been even remotely prepared in the first place.

It is only in the wee hours of the morning, with cloudless skies and moonlight nights and three hours on the clock before she has to report for the next day’s grueling briefings, that she thinks of Qrow. She doesn’t know whether he survived the Fall or not. James would probably be more upset if he hadn’t.

A part of her wants to offer to take Weiss to Sanus. It would be so Weiss could be away from their father, their brother, that manor that was haunted with too many nightmares to count; Winter tells herself that it would be so Weiss could be with her friends again.

Every time she plays out that little fantasy in her head, she neglects to mention that Qrow is always conveniently there, too. And in that little fantasy, he smiles at her without the winking and the leering and the teasing. He tells her she’s capable, and she’s strong, and that he’s proud of her. That he admires her. That he thinks she’s beautiful. That she’ll be an amazing ally in this post-Fall world.

And, sometimes, when she grants herself a little more time in that fantasy, the age difference and differing statuses and alcoholism and distrust all fade away, and Qrow wants her, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think of this little piece! This isn't my usual format so feedback is greatly appreciated :)


End file.
